


constant craving

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Timeskip, mention of Usijima, spoilers for guidebook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28238487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Frustrated after an operation on his shoulder, Daishou Suguru looks for a distraction to guide him through his convalescence and it appears to be working, his eyes opening to a new obsession, until he hits a block and can't  find a way through. About to give up, he sees the news that Japan's cannon has landed back in Tokyo for the Olympics, and snake-like he sees a way around his current problem.If only he can get the chance to not just meet but talk to Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	constant craving

It wasn’t just his head pounding that caused Suguru to wake early, or the pain in his shoulder whenever he moved (he blocked from his mind he should have been resting and not putting any undue strain on it). Neither of these had stopped him from dropping off, nor had they woken him at three, then five. Rather the niggle in his mind, the feeling that he was so close to the solution and yet so far away that if he even managed to get close enough to grasp the answer it would slide away from him had forced him to quit his dreamless sleep.

“This is no good,” he muttered staring at himself in the mirror, frowning in particular at the bags and dark circles delineating his eyes.

Ignoring the state of his kitchen, he slumped in front of his television with a small carton of cereal, poured almond milk into in and then spooned into his mouth. He could hear his mum’s scolds in his head, but closed his eyes again, hoping to block her out.

“In sports news,” the broadcaster read out, “the Olympic volleyball team members are arriving from all over the world. Today, we hear, Japan’s cannon Ushijima Wakatoshi, will be landing in Tokyo from Poland ahead of joining the training camp on Monday. Yesterday Hinata Shouyou flew in from—”

“HOLY CRAP!” Suguru yelled and jumping up, he dropped his spoon and crushed the cereal carton in his hand. “Ushiwaka’s back. Of-bloody-course. He can help.”

Enlivened, he grabbed his phone. “Mika-chan. It’s me.”

He heard her yawn. “Yeah, my phone has number recognition,” she muttered crossly. “I’m starting to wish I’d blocked you when we split, at least I wouldn’t get these calls at ass o’clock.”

“It’s nearly seven,” he protested.

“I’m on nights. What do you want, Sugu?”

“What makes you think I want…” He heard her groan. “Okay, straight to the point, and you can say no, obviously, but … uh … can I crash at yours?”

“What?” she sighed. “When?”

“Uh… tonight. One night, maybe two, certainly no longer than three.”

“I’m working nights all week,” she said. “So don’t expect me to socialise.”

“No, no, that’s fine. I need some advice from someone, that’s all.”

“Medical?” More alert, the concern showed in her voice. “Is your shoulder okay?”

“Ah, it will be.” He rolled it, ignoring the twinge. “I’m resting it and I’ve been signed off for another week. So … do you mind?”

“It’s fine,” she replied. “But if you go anywhere near my kitchen, you’re barred.”

“Haaaa, sure,” he laughed, then after wishing her well and promising to text details of when he’d arrive, he hung up and checked train times.

Arriving at four, he managed to catch Mika—now fully awake and cheerful—before she left for the hospital, so she let him in, heated up some Katsu curry from the night before, and sat companionably with him, listening as he chatted.

“You think I’m mad, right?”

“It sounds a bit like you’re switching one obsession for another,” she cautioned, then offered a soft smile, “but it seems benign to me. Just be careful how you approach Ushijima. Do you know where he’s staying?”

He shook his head. “I called a few on the way—made out I was an old friend— but they were either supremely good at giving me the brush off, or he’s not staying there. I’ll try a few more when my phone’s charged.” He looked across at her, hoping she’d take the hint and hand over her phone, so he could start over. But Mika knew him of old, stared back then returned to her food.

“Maybe you should find an intermediary,” she said.

“I only need to know where he’s staying. I can hustle my way in to his hotel, no problem.”

“An intermediary would make things easier,” she insisted. “A proper introduction instead of slithering your way in, Suguru.”

His eyes narrowed. “You got someone in mind?”

At that she laughed. And he knew.

“Why the hell would _he_ talk to me?”

“Because I’m guessing you still wind him up as much as he winds you up, and maybe—just maybe— you could get that to work in your favour?”

“He’s a big name in volleyball now. I’m just a league two player,” he said and moodily pushed his bowl away. “An injured one at that!”

“You’re playing and making a living out of it,” she said and booped his nose. “He’s supposed to be invested in every player, whether they’re pro, amateur, child or old geezer.”

“I guess.”

“He has an office right here,” she replied dangling the information in front of him. “You could be there in ten minutes.”

“But … this isn’t exactly under his … uh … remit.”

She tapped her head. “Goes to state of mind, Suguru! You’ll think of something. You always do.”

“You should have been a lawyer.”

Chewing the last of her chicken, she smirked. “I’m too smart for that.”

Figuring the office would close at six, Suguru left Mika’s flat shortly after she did, half-running to his destination. It was a longshot, but short of calling the rest of the Tokyo hotels, it was the only chance he had.

_Just a shame it’s a shot against my old nemesis, who happens to be one of the best blockers around,_ he thought ruefully, then smirked. _But I was always good at sneaking the odd one past ya, Kuroo._

He arrived outside the Volleyball Association building, checked to see if Kuroo had his own nameplate (he hadn’t - HA!) and sauntered in, hands in pockets and thrusting out his chest so the receptionist could see his Yotsuya training top.

“I’m here to see Kuroo,” he said, and bowed low at the man behind the desk, keeping everything formal, polite but with a hint of assurance.

“You’ve just missed him,” the receptionist replied and squinted at him. “Are you Kozume?”

“Me? Yes … yes, that’s me, Kozume Kenma.”

“He said he’d meet you at the restaurant.”

“Ahhh, cool.” He patted his pocket, faking confusion. “I’m sorry, but I left all the details in my other jacket. Which restaurant was that?”

“Moshiko’s. On the corner of the main street.”

Wow, fancy. Kuroo must be doing very well for himself, unless it was on expenses.

“Ah, that’s it.” He offered a smile and a sigh. “I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

Sliding out in case the real Kozume turned up, Suguru adjusted his bearings, zipped up his jacket to hide his tee shirt and walked quickly to the restaurant. He straightened his shoulders, fixed a determined and what he hoped was a ‘don’t you know who I am’ attitude to his face and barrelled forwards to the door of Moshiko’s.

“There’s a dress code,” the doorman said, running his eyes up and down Suguru’s dishevelled attire and visibly shuddering.

“I’m meeting Kuroo Tetsurou,” he drawled and dusted his nails across the front of his jacket. “He’s waiting for me.”

“Dress code,” repeated the doorman. “You could be meeting the Emperor and I’d still not let you in.”

He considered yelling, but following the old adage that you caught more flies with honey than vinegar, Suguru smiled and lifted his wallet out of his pocket. “Look, fella, I didn’t know about the dress code, but how about you let me in so I can explain to Kuroo-san and then I’ll nip home and get changed. Orrrr, you could sit us in a corner where no one will see,”

“Or,” the Doorman mocked, and lurched towards him, “you could go home and get changed now and I’ll tell Kuroo-san you’ll be late. That is if you _are_ his guest. He’s already here with someone.”

He grimaced, knowing he was beaten.

At least in this set. But the match …

“Sure. Thank you. I understand,” he replied politely and backed away.

Dashing round the corner, he found the alley way leading to the restaurant’s back entrance, preparing to sneak in. Then he checked himself, taking a breath. Was all this hassle worth it? Did he really need to speak to Ushiwaka that badly? But just then, as the back door opened as a waiter came out for his break, and a smell of delicious food wafted towards Suguru. His mouth watered and he felt again the desperation in the ache not just from his head but his shoulder and he stepped closer.

“Hey,” he called cheerily. “Uh, could you do me a favour?”

“What sort of favour?”

“Just need to borrow your hat and apron for a while.” He winked. “There’s someone in there that I want to surprise. Serve him a dish and see how long it takes for him to twig it’s me.”

“He won’t.” The waiter scowled.

_Ohhhh, chippy, ain’t ya._ “Yeah, you know what these rich bastards are like,” he continued, laying it on thick. “They never notice the little guy serving them.” He flipped his volleyball accreditation pass very quickly in front of his eyes. “I’m press, by the way. And obviously I’ll pay you.”

There followed a quick negotiation on price (Suguru dismissing the voice in his head saying ‘is this really worth it?’) and then the exchange was made. Donning the apron and hat, he slipped inside the kitchen.

Then realised his error.

He was dressed like a kitchen assistant. Maybe a dishwasher. And not a waiter.

Still, he’d come this far, and grabbing two dishes from the side, he bowled out through the swing doors and stepped into the restaurant.

Early evening and it wasn’t busy. It was also a classy place, with plush red carpet, white walls adorned with pale blue silk calligraphy prints and an actual pianist in the corner tinkling the ivories. Swallowing because he now understood exactly why there was a dress code, Suguru tried to make his trainers less conspicuous and padded across the floor and towards the table where he could see the coxcomb hair of his fated rival.

“Your dessert, sir,” he began, and faltered. Why the heck would they be ordering dessert when they’d only just arrived?

“Not for us,” Kuroo replied.

“Apple pie though,” muttered his companion, and looked up. “Hey, I know you.”

“Uh…” He swallowed. “Yeah, look, it’s…”

“Jeez, Daishou! What the hell are you doing here?” Kuroo demanded. “Have you been permanently injured out? Is this your job now?”

“He’s not dressed smart enough to be a waiter here,” Kenma opined. His eyes narrowed cat-like and he gave a small tight smile. “I’m guessing he’s here to see you, Kuro.”

“Angling for tickets, right? No chance!”

“No … it’s not like that. I need to speak to you about something.”

“And you can’t make an appointment like a regular person,” Kuroo replied. “Phone my secretary.”

“Do you have one?” Kozume asked inquisitively.

“Hey, I _share_ one!” Kuroo retorted scowling. “I’m pretty busy though, so maybe next week.” He slapped his head. “No, that’s when the Olympic training camp opens, and, hey, guess what, I’ll be even busier!”

“It’s important!” He could hear the wheedling desperation in his voice, this time not an act. “Kuroo-kun, it’s not your time I need. Just … help.”

“What for?” Kuroo eyes him suspiciously.

Massaging his injured shoulder (which was genuinely aching again) Suguru crouched beside the table. “Ushiwaka-san’s flown in, right?”

“Mmm.”

“And I _really_ need to speak to him.” He massaged harder, noticing that both Kuroo and Kozume were watching intently.

“Why?” Kozume asked.

“Uh… his spike action. Like that former one he had. I heard it caused shoulder problems and I wanted to ask advice on—”

“He’s never been injured and your spike action is nothing like his and never will be,” Kuroo snapped and raised his hand. “Waiter!”

“No … no … please!” His neck cricked, but he ploughed on. “Ow. Kuroo, it’s important!”

“There are no shortcuts. Go and see your physio! Don’t badger the players, Daishou. You’ll put them off their game.”

“All I want to know is where Ushijima’s staying. I won’t badger him!”

“You want something, sir?” smarmed the Maître D’.

“Yeah, get rid of this guy, will ya?”

“Pardon?”

“He’s not with us,” Kozume said calmly and started to tuck into the apple pie. “I don’t think he’s with you, either.”

“Al right all right I’m going!” Suguru seethed. “One thing, Kuroo, if you see Ushijima-san then please—”

“Get you a signed pic? We sell them in the shop. Stop trying to get freebies.”

“Pass on my number,” Suguru hissed, and then swerving away from the waiters, he charged for the door, shoulder-bumping the doorman on his way out.

Damn! Fucking Kuroo. He’d never hear him out. Slumping against a wall, Suguru groaned. This was a dumb idea. He should give up. Try the more conventional route of emailing, or following on Instagram, hoping he’d be seen and his questions answered.

But just as he slid further down the wall, the phone in his backpocket buzzed. It was Mika.

**_< <Any luck>> _ **

**< <Nope>>**

**_< <ah that’s a shame. What will you do now?>>_ **

**< <Phone a few more hotels. It’s all I can do. I might go home instead.>>**

**_< < Tell you what, how about you offer a reward to the first person who tells you where he’s staying. Like, idk, a meal out. Or some jewellery. Speaking of jewellery, there’s this cute set of earrings I saw the other day. Be lovely if someone would treat me.>>_ **

**< <Mika, what are you on about? How would I go about offering a reward?>>**

**_< <You’d offer one then?>>_ **

**< <I would>>**

He hit send and then started clicking furiously. **< <Mika-chan, do you know where he is?>>**

**_< <You could say that?>>_ **

He could practically see her grin. **< <How and where?>>**

**_< <Earrings?>>_ **

**< <Within reason. I promise>>**

**_< <Okay, so I was treating a guy for a smashed nose. Turns out he tripped on his first day in his new job … as a hotel porter.>> _ **

**< <go on!!!>>**

**_< <He tripped over a large bag. One containing a volleyball.>>_ **

**< <Ushiwaka’s???>>**

**_< <You got it. Why would he travel with a volleyball? Do you do that?>>_ **

He ignored the question. **< <And the hotel>>**

**_< <Metropolitan>> _ **

**< <YES! I’M PUNCHING THE AIR!! THANK YOU SM>>**

**_< <See you tomorrow. You can make me breakfast when I get home. Unless you’ve been arrested.>>_ **

**< <It’ll be cool, Mika-chan. I promise. And I thought you didn’t want me in your kitchen>>**

**_< <Yeah, stick to eggs, or order it in. Right, my break’s over. Good luck.>> _ **

He didn’t need luck, not now he had the location and the ebullience of his natural charm giving him springs in his heels. With a new swagger, he made his way to the Metropolitan, then stood back to admire the height and the statuesque-ness of it all as it towered over the other buildings. Of course Ushiwaka would stay here! It was very … strong.

Hmm, jacket undone to show his training top, or buttoned to hide it. Now he knew where Ushiwaka was, maybe he could go home and change into something more fitting. Except, he had nothing more fitting – not really. And maybe he’d respect his team colours, recognise Suguru as a fellow professional rather than a hanger-on simp of a fan.

_Which I am not! Not in the slightest._

But as he approached the reception desk, his palms began to sweat and he had to cough to clear whatever frog had lodged itself in his throat.

“May I help you, sir?” asked the receptionist, staring up at him with a chirpy smile on her face.

“Uh…” He coughed again. “I’m a friend of one of your guests. Ushijima Wakatoshi. Could you tell me which room he’s in?”

He smile had frozen and for a split second he could have sworn she was rolling her eyes. “Another one,” he thought she murmured as she reached for a pen and paper. “Leave your name and details and I’ll pass the message on.”

“No … I need to speak to him. In person.”

“He’s expecting you?” she said, frowning as she consulted a clipboard.

“Not exactly, but I’m a volleyball pro, like he is, and not a deranged fan. I just need to—”

“Leave him a message,” she replied firmly. “I will be sure to add it to the pile.”

“Oh … Could I offer you—”

“Money. No. You’re the thirteenth person attempting to bribe me. The Metropolitan prides itself on its privacy for its guests. And that includes not sending undesirables to a guest’s room.”

“Hey, I’m not an undesirable. I just want to ask him something! Something important! Look, you can check my I.D and my accreditation. I am who I say I am.”

Her eyes flicked over the photo. “Your name is not on my list and I am not authorised to let you in. Write him a message,” she said, and rolled a pen across the surface of the desk.

“Can I—”

“We have no rooms,” she pre-empted. “And that’s really creepy.”

“I was going to say,” he replied, softly as he fixed her with a stare, “Am I allowed to wait for him?”

“I guess,” she said, grudgingly.

“Then I shall,” he informed her. “I will sit at the corner table and order tea and biscuits, if that’s at all possible.”

It was the icy politeness that got her; the feeling that she might just have misjudged him and she slid a tea menu across to him, then waited to take his order.

“Pot of Lapsang Souchong for one and a selection of the …” Pausing, he gaped at the menu and with a deep breath pointed to the item three.

“Of course,” she murmured, and reaching for the telephone she placed his order. “Make yourself comfortable, sir.”

While he waited, he decided to write a message for Ushijima. Probably he should have left now and he wouldn’t be hanging around too long, not now reality was setting in and he had no more bluffs left. In truth the only reason he was still here was because she’d seemed so set against it. That and the tea menu did look inviting.

“Tea and chocolate truffles, sir,” said a waitress, setting everything carefully on the table.

He inclined his head, thanking her, stared at the truffles which glistened in their perfection, then sighed and picked up his pen.

**_Ushijima-san,_** he wrote. **_I expect you get a lot of these messages, but let me assure you this one is different. You don’t know me, but I am a volleyball player in the V league. We’ve never played against each other, but I have watched you in the stands and long admired your career._** _(Gahd enough of the flannel!)._ **However …** Suguru chewed the pen … **_how shall I put this? It’s not volleyball I wish to speak to you about_**

He shivered feeling a breeze as someone blundered into the hotel, and stopped writing to pour himself tea.

“Heyyyyy,” came a voice approaching the desk. “I’m not staying at this hotel but I’m here to meet a friend.”

The sigh from the receptionist had turned into more of a groan. “Let me guess, it’s Ushijima Wakatoshi and you’re a friend of his.”

“How didya guess?”

Snorting, Suguru sipped his tea. _Good luck with that, stranger-san,_ he laughed and returned to writing his message.

**_I’ve discovered that you’re …_ **

“I _am_ a friend,” continued the man, rather loudly. “Is he in? Or at practise?”

“I am not at liberty to say. You may leave a message, or I can check to see if you’re on his list. Your name, sir,” she said, sounding weary.

**a friend of**

“Tendou Satori. Like we’re best friend he’ll know who I—”

**Tendou Sa**

_WHAT?_

“TENDOU SATORI?” Suguru leapt up from his chair, upsetting the small teapot, but fortunately not the plate of chocolate petit fours.

“Uh… that’s me,” said the stranger who was not a stranger at all, but a taller than average, gangly guy with dark red hair cut close to his skull.

And Suguru, who’d memorised every nuance of Tendou’s face in the past month when he’d been out injured, recognised him at once,

“It really is you,” he breathed.

“It was the last time I read the tag in my underpants,” Tendou replied, sounding a touch wary. He stepped closer. “Uh … have we met?”

“No … no, we haven’t.”

“You’re a volleyball player, right?” Tendou asked, staring at his shirt. “It’s been a while since I played, but did we play against each other? I have a terrible memory for faces. And names actually. But is that how you know me?”

“I’m Daishou Suguru, Outside Hitter for Yotsuya Motor Spirits …” he rasped and bowed. “You won’t know me. But I’ve seen your shows. I watched them when I was convalescing.” The lump was back in his throat, blocking coherent words as his thoughts spiralled round his head. “I’m _so_ pleased to get the chance to meet you.”

“Excuse me, _you_ said you were waiting for Ushijima-san,” the receptionist accused.

“Ohhhhh! I get it. You want to use me to get to him, right?” Tendou quirked an eyebrow, smile fading as he wagged his finger in Suguru’s face “Oh no you don’t! One thing you should know is that Wakatoshi’s my best friend and no one—absolutely no one—gets to him through me! It’s been like that since our playing days. So you’d better leave, buddy.”

“No!” Suguru protested as Tendou grabbed his arm. “Please, it’s you I wanted to meet, Tendou-sama. That’s honestly the only reason I’m even in Tokyo.”

“Huh? How d’you know I was here?” Confused, Tendou flopped on the vacant chair, his knee moving up and down as he jiggled his foot on the floor.

“I didn’t,” Suguru admitted. “But I found out Ushijima was staying at this hotel and knew he knew you, so hoped I could ingratiate myself enough to get your contact details. Maybe arrange to meet if you came back, or if I found myself in Paris.”

“Whaaaaaaat?” Tendou peered closer. “Why would you want to meet me? I don’t play anymore.”

“Because … because …” He swallowed for the thousandth time, trying to think of a way to phrase the words that wouldn’t sound so lame or crazed. He stared at his hands, volleyball players’ hands, swift and strong to spike and serve, but with no finesse or grace when faced with a bowl of melted chocolate. And then he took a breath, maybe the last breath he’d take in this man’s presence. “It has nothing to do with volleyball, except maybe that gives us a bit more of a connection. I like cooking,” he confessed. “Like … I _really_ enjoy it, which was great at the beginning because it stopped me from obsessing about my injury, only now I’m obsessing over choc … Sorry, let me rewind. Okay, so I had minor surgery on my shoulder and have been forced to rest, so I was at home and found that documentary where you met up with Ushijima and …” _Get back on track. Get back on track._ “That got me into your show. My eyes were opened to your world. It was _fascinating,_ and you made it look so simple. So as I was bored and needed a distraction, I thought I’d give it a try. But being me, I couldn’t just leave it at _trying_. I wanted to be better--like a constant craving to improve. And I I practised and practised until I strained my shoulder beating the last batch, which won’t help my recovery at all. I really should stop, but I don’t want to, even though I can’t …” He groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Can’t what?” Tendou asked softly.

“It’s embarrassing, especially talking to a genius like you.” Suguru sniffled, close to frustration tears now. “I can’t temper chocolate. Mine fails every time. I feel … _stupid_.”

Tendou’s head lolled to the side. His eyes went dreamy as he helped himself to one of the truffles.“Constant craving, yeah I understand that. It haunts people like us, everywhere. And chocolate? A divine concoction, making fools of us all,” he soothed. “It’ll be temperature, Daishou-kun. Or else you’re over-beating. I remember my first attempts. My god, the travesty that was the chocolate I had to throw away! You see, I’m a pretty hyperactive guy, but I had to learn to calm down if I wanted to create. No one I played with or against can believe my patience now.” Chewing the truffle, he splayed his hands across the table. “In volleyball terms, you need the deft hand of a Setter, Daishou-san, not one more used to power spikes.”

He sniffed. “I _am_ pretty good at feints.”

“Then channel that.”

“Would you … um … while you’re waiting for Ushijima-san, do you think you could possibly talk me through it? Or write some tips down.”

Tendou squinted at him, and then as the last whisper of confusion fled his face, he chuckled. “Well, as it looks like Wakatoshi’s either sleeping off jetlag or he’s getting some practise in, then I could do better than that and actually show you – as long as you’ve got a kitchen close by.”

Weak with the happiness of a goal almost attained, he nodded.

_You are not to use my kitchen,_ Mika had warned. But Suguru, after emptying the rest of the truffles into a napkin to take with him, offered up the smallest of prayers to whatever deity would save him from her tongue and vengeful kick up the arse.

“It’s not far,” he croaked, vowing to clear up and maybe placate her with personalised chocolates.

Reaching over to take another truffle, Tendou appraised it before nibbling the golden shavings. He chuckled again, and his eyes appeared to be lit from within. “Daishou, my man, let’s create!”

**Author's Note:**

> In the Haikyuu guidebook, Daishou's current concern is that he's been awakened to cooking, and this worries him. (THank you, San, for sharing this snippet) Anyway, I decided to play with that and introduce Tendou to the mix. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it. There could well be more.


End file.
